Silverperl

Dink Dink, how our hammers fall!

Beating away, up and down.

With great care, do we shape this fine silverperl.

Beating it into shape, protector of our best.

Contoured to fit our young men and women.

The treasure of our land, the hand of our great Ruler.

Dink Dink, how hard we work!

Hours and hours on the anvil.

So delicate and beautiful a thing, yet so tough.

Stronger and harder than the thickest steel.

Yet our backs grow stronger, our arms get wider.

For tirelessly do we persevere.

Dink Dink, oh what a commotion!

The striking of steel against silverperl.

Enough to stir up half the town.

But as we strike, our eyes are amazed.

As they fall upon the beautiful substance.

Found in the depths of the Boundless Blue.

Scoured and gouged out by our dauntless divers.

Brought to the surface, glistening in the sun.

Crushed and ground and mixed with steel.

Entwined with the fibres to produce a wonder.

Pride arises in us as a new piece emerges.

Handing it over to the officers who come collecting.

And happy are we to see gratitude on their faces.

But no time for toast or rest or leisure.

Dink Dink, begins a piece anew!

And again fall our heavy hammers.

Much do we sweat and tire.

But never stop, for to forge this we have the honour.

Dunwin

Oh hello, nice to meet you.

Dunwin is my name, and who are you?

Long have I travelled, this way and that.

Here and there, everywhere.

Seeking a new abode, that is my goal.

Hoy Hullo, long have I searched.

In the far north is my home.

Where live on many of my folk.

Where the grasses are few and the ground patchy.

Where the horses roam wild and free.

Water is scant, food is bare.

But ever we prevail, march and dare.

Now you seem fine and hale, good sir.

Pray tell, what need have you?

Dunwin am I.

I can cook, I can sweep, I can clean.

I can read and write better than any scribe.

No stump can yet withstand my stroke.

I can sow and harvest and feed and fish.

Many are the lands I have seen.

And many souls have I met on the long road.

I have seen the good times, I have seen the bad.

I can weave, I can knit.

I can swing, I can shoot, I can wield lance.

I have shepherded, I have bartered, I have hunted.

I have kept house, I have tended farmstead.

What need you and your fine family?

I can teach, I can train, I can guard.

And always am I learning.

The ways of all people, between North and South.

East and West.

Hoy Hullo, how the time flies, no?

I have spoken much, now you tell me.

Dunwin am I, and I am willing.

Desolate

The faceless grey and the blurry lights cut their own tale.

As my nose presses gently against the foggy glass, it all comes back again.

I am reminded of what was once before.

Its ghost rumbling, convulsing the innards.

The whirring of tools, the revving of engines, the roaring of turbofans.

The multitudes seen everywhere, the restive dust that gilds the hazy lights.

So far, and yet so near.

All a canvas, bringing to life the colours of thought.

What lay dormant, but never truly discarded.

The glorious days come racing back.

When all were happy.

When joy resonated through the streets.

When families drowned in great bliss.

When children were promised the future.

When straight lay the way of the starry heights.

Nothing left untouched.

An eternal spring.

But what I see dolefully, right there before me.

Gutted and greying hulks, wearing away.

Alone, abandoned.

Symbols of a bygone era.

An array of despair.

A manifestation of so many hopes and dreams.

Now all crushed and burnt out.

Like an unforeseen wildfire mercilessly devouring a forest.

But all was not lost.

Remnants of the great theme remained.

Reverberating down to the present.

Keeping alive the lantern’s embrace.

In the wake of destruction, a beat prevailed.

A bud of resilience, blossoming.

But the marring remains.

The worn hulks sit idly by.

Alone, unwanted.

Bringing forth the shackles of remembrance.

Traces of the disaster scar the landscape.

Will we ever truly forget?

Beneath The Sun

The man slipped into the tavern at the corner of the crowded street. He found crowds and the babble of the public irritating. It would be downright stifling inside the tavern too, but the last few days of his leave were almost up and a drink was in order.

He very much wanted to bring her along as well but she could not stand the crowd that frequented such places, especially with the summer heat and what the midday sun did to working men. Every moment without her was a moment lost forever, but he would be back shortly.

He saw an old man sitting at the bar, one of the regulars, and proceeded to join him. No invitation was necessary, they were already familiar with each other - although he sometimes wondered how the man always recognized him, being mired in drink whenever they met. Although, he himself was amazed that he could manage to make out anything at all through the copious mist hanging inside.

“Hello, how goes it?” he asked politely as he sat down on one of the rickety barstools.

“Very well, thanks. Oh, it’s you then.” the old man said, after lifting his head which had been hovering slightly above the rim of the mug. “Not seen you in these here parts lately.”

“Right, because you would make me out so easily. No mistake whatsoever.”

There was a slight pause, seemingly awkward, before the old man guffawed. “’tis true, ‘tis true, I probably wouldn’t. Sometimes I can’t make meself out in the bar mirror, truth be told.” the old man said gaily.

“No, no you’re right, haven’t been here too much. Never had a passion for drinking the way you do,” he said, “But I’ve been spending a lot of time with my wife and she prefers I not frequent such dives. I don’t have a lot of days left before I go back.”

“Hmm, wise woman that. And pretty too, no doubt? She’s not wrong, family is always important boy. Sad that most your age go romping around instead,” the old man said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the raucous, carousing patrons behind them.

“Still, good to have you here. Now, let us share drink, eh?” the old man proposed.

v   

They downed their drinks and continued talking. In an overtly shady establishment as this, teeming with dubious characters, the old man, well beyond his prime, with his remarkable stories stood out. Were he not here, the man might have kept entirely to himself and drunk alone. He did not much fancy such crowds either.

“Probably don’t have to tell you, but sure you know by now what’s going on in the south…” the old man said casually after gulping down the last of his ale.

“Yes, I’ve picked that up. Doesn’t sound too good, could become a mess,” the man replied. The old man was always informed about everything. How and where he got his information, the man could only wonder.

“Think you might be called upon? I mean if……….well you know.” the old man asked, in a surprisingly delicate manner, in spite of the drink.

“Maybe. I don’t know. If it does worsen, I could be, like many of us will. It’s why I’ve been spending so much time with my wife. Never know when the messenger might come banging on the door.” he finished.

“Hmm….……well, let’s have another drink then. To you and your good wife. And hoping that messenger don’t show up. And if he does, well then………all the best.” he said.

v   

After the drink was over, the man said his farewell to the other and started towards the door. He looked apprehensively at the large oak door on the other side of the hall, not relishing the prospect of negotiating his way and bumping against several patrons to get there. Before he could leave though, the old man tapped him on the arm.

“You should know this.” He paused, as if trying to choose the next few words carefully, “He is here. Was spotted getting off one of the ships that docked in just yesterday.”

The man was confused and had no idea who or what the old man was blabbering about. He is here? Who was here?

But then he realized. Yes, it could only be one.

Him.

Collecting himself, he asked, “Really? What’s he doing here?”

“No idea, just know that he came into town yesterday. Hasn’t been seen since he got off the dock.”

“Interesting. Well, thank you for letting me know.” And with that, he gathered his coat and got off the chair.

“Yeah, just thought you oughta know. I’m rather hoping you both don’t run into each other….sure half the city is hoping that,” the old man said with a parting gesture

“Very amusing. Don’t worry, the streets won’t run red yet. That’s quite a bit of news. Take care, until next time then. And don’t drink too much. Seriously, you do.”

And with that, the man donned his coat and inched his way slowly to the door, through the sea of inebriated.

Balls

I spun around as fast as my exhausted state could possibly allow, but a second too late. Before I knew it, it smacked me right in the face, in the middle of my forehead. I staggered before succumbing to the shock and shooting pain and fell hard on my back, so hard was the blow.

“Excellent Mark, just great. EYES ON THE BALL, DON’T DAYDREAM!,” came the familiar and endearing bark of my oh-so-beloved coach.

“Ya, do that more, we really need it. Should nail a lot of games this season,” he sneered with gusto.

I was pissed. Like, royally, beyond anything you could comprehend – and it wasn’t from the ball. Well ok, mostly not from it. I scowled at my gym teacher and felt nothing but disgust. Guy was a douchebag of the highest order. If ever you asked me to give you an example of the most uninspiring team-leader I ever knew, he’d be my top pick. I pictured myself just slicing off that bulging chin, that overhanging belly, and shoving it into his fu……….

“Hey, hey hero! Come here!” his voice cracked again, pulling me out of my momentary withdrawal. It was remarkable I could hear anyone or anything in my present mood, seeing nothing but red at the time.

“What?!” I screamed back, out of anger but also from being worn out after more than two hours of brutal training.

“Come here. Hey, I said come here dammit!” he barked again, making a ‘come-here’ palm gesture as he did.

I looked around at the court and my teammates, and then started moving towards him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being able to push me around, I took my own sweet time to saunter over. That did not make him any happier.

“Listen hero, ditch the attitude, aannh? Lose it, or leave it at home before you get here. Get me? You hear me, right?” he said, constantly moving his hand around while speaking, as if it would drive the message home. Half the reason for my intense dislike of him came from all that goddamn gesturing.

“What’re you…” I began, but was immediately cut off.

“No no, don’t say anything. Just do as I tell you. I’m experienced, I know better. Keep your eyes on the ball and don’t mess up again,” he said.

Eyes on the ball? Eyes on the ball?! The insufferable a****** seemed to conveniently forget all the points I’d scored for him just yesterday. So what if I hadn’t reacted in time just now? It was only my first error in, like, months. And I’d been clean during the whole of training, until that one moment. Nazir had been screwing up since the day’s session began and he hadn’t said anything to him.

“Yo, what’s your problem? What do you mean don’t screw up? I got us out in the second half didn’t I?” I challenged.

“And what, you think that’s enough to give you a pass for anything?”

“It’s just one small mistake. And what about last week, huh? Or anytime before that? Been bringing in the numbers, haven’t I?” I shot back.

“Oh, so you’re special then. You’re better than anyone here.”

By now, some of the other guys had stopped their shooting and dribbling and were gathering around at the periphery of the shooting mark to watch. There were still enough of them going on with their practice at the other end of the court, or at least trying to, so it wasn’t too awkward. Not that I cared at this point.

“I didn’t say that, and no way would I think that. If I did, you think I’d be staying back after six hours of class for practice I didn’t need?”

“Listen, I don’t care what you did or what you plan to do. Just shutup and follow instructions. Get back on the court and do that play again properly. Go, go. Now.”

“Hey a******, I don’t see you saying anything to Nazir or Jones about their form. What you getting all over me for?!” I said as I started moving towards the court, finally losing all that pent-up, but hitherto well-managed, restraint.

At this point, I was positive that he would kill me. I think he actually could if he tried, or deal some serious damage at least. I was his height but he was wider than me. And despite his overt lethargy, I knew he wasn’t devoid of strength. He could have strangled me if he wanted to then and there, no problem. With the maddest glare I’ve seen on any face, he advanced slowly towards me.

“What? What……...did you say?” he asked in almost a whisper, bobbing his head up as he said so.

I didn’t recoil. The damage was done. I know I said that he could clobber me, but I wasn’t scared. Let him do what he wanted, like I wouldn’t do something back. I was way beyond caring and firmly stood my ground.

“I think you heard me. You really want me to repeat it again, in front of everyone?” I asked, with a smirk of satisfaction.

It seems weird to think about, and even more so considering the severity of the confrontation at the time, but I felt like there was a free-floating flow of words between us at the time, like an invisible bridge linking our exchange. It was like my responses were already tailor-made to his and were ready even before words reached his mouth, and vice-versa.

He looked like he was struggling to breathe and couldn’t draw the words out of his mouth. Perhaps no one had spoken to him like that before. Not a single student when he threw verbal barbs at them or a member of the faculty when he talked down to them.

“You………alright, go. Give me fifty rounds.”

“What the hell for?”

“Give me fifty rounds!”

“Why?" 

That was his breaking point. I’d gone too far. He’d finally had it and started walking towards me, but I didn’t wait. With a parting “f****** a******” under my breath and a smirk, I charged up and started running. Felt good. Nice day.

Oh Dear....

Oh good, five minutes to one. Man I can’t wait. Come on, man. Cumon cumon cumon………aw come on already! Every second is agonizing, every minute feels like a year. One o’ clock just can’t get here fast enough….

I’ve been staring at the clock for what seems an eternity. I’ve been working non-stop since eight. At this point, I can barely keep my eyes open or prop myself up on my own elbows at my desk.

I dragged myself to the office early today to get some stuff out of the way and free up my weekend. I also hoped it would get my boss’ attention. Not that he ever comes in this early, but word is that he goes over everyone’s check-in time on his way in.

I’d also skipped breakfast this morning. Bad move.

I have to deal with a lot of things at the same time. Whining clients, lazy-ass colleagues and whatnot - all this on top of my regular workload.

I’m back to looking at the hands on the nearby clock hanging on the wall. I wait in agonizing silence as the large hand slowly inches towards the number twelve. I can barely wait, the moment is nearly here.

I don’t even feel like caring right now. I’m completely spent at this point and my stomach gives off an audible rumble. Let the damn phone go off, let the losers search frantically for me as they go nuts trying to solve their own mess. With things so hectic and me overstretched, I literally haven’t had the chance to get off my table since the morning.

Oh, and it’s also sweltering outside, as expected around this time of the year, meaning that even the short walk I have to take from the park is almost unbearable.

            And why do I leave my car all the way at the park? Because the ever-so-considerate wanks from the neighbouring office take up all our slots.

I try to not give in to the overwhelming urge to close my eyes. It’s happened before. My eyelids start drooping and suddenly I’ve dozed off, my head jerking and bobbing on the chair. Kinda funny, really, when you see it. Actually no, it’s not….

Three to one……

Two to one, come on, come ON……

Yes! It’s finally here! I breathe a huge sigh of relief as the hand settles over twelve. Pushing my chair back with perhaps more force than required, I get up and proceed to make my way to the pantry downstairs. For now, all I need is a quick fix. I knock over a stapler on the way down and don’t bother picking it up.

I press the elevator button and wait for it to arrive at my floor. This I can easily wait for, no problem. Don’t know how, but always been able to. Sitting on that confounded chair is maddening. Everything that follows after getting up from it seems a cakewalk.

I walk into the elevator as the doors slide open and press the button to go downstairs. It’s not that far below so doesn’t take too much time.

Even before the doors are fully open, I get out of the elevator before anyone else has a chance to and walk towards the pantry, inviting strange looks as I do so. Ah, yes, there’s the beverage-machine. I go there first before doing anything else.

I hastily yank out a cup from the dispenser on the side, lock it into the cup-holder inside and jab the button that would activate the flow of some much-needed hot cocoa. I wait for the familiar sound of pouring liquid, followed by the beeping sound signalling that it was okay to withdraw the cup. After pressing the button, I wait and look around absent-mindedly.

Except that there was no flowing sound….

Or the usual beeping….

I press the button again. Nothing. I chuck the cup into the trash, take out another and put it into the holder. After all that, I press the “choco-milk” button again.

Still nothing.

I look up at the small green display that shows the operational status of the machine and preparation stage of the beverage last ordered.

“Sorry. Currently Out Of Order.”

What the……

What the f****** hell, are you kidding me??!!!

Melancholia

Once was a boy named Fortune.

And he was afraid.

Why he was so, none could tell.

Fear, omnipresent fear wherever he turned.

Leering at him from every corner.

A bilious, foreboding mist, suffusing every fibre within, reaching every crevasse.

Overpowering what may have held on before, taking over.

At other times, an indomitable wall before him.

As if challenging him.

He was afraid.

Afraid to look here, to look there.

To go here, to go there.

Everywhere he turned, it was there.

Unceasing in its pursuit, reaching out to him at every opportune moment, cackling away.

Harrying him even at the very best of times, those verdurous, light-filled moments we all cherish and hold so dear.

One would think this a contest, a duel to wrest complete control.

Oh no, this was no battle between equals.

Even the smallest of victories held a sour aftertaste.

Even on the verge of overpowering it, a vestige would remain.

To seep in again and conquer, as it always did, like a breach in a mighty hull or a tear in a waterskin.

Time didn’t matter, it could always wait.

For as long as it took to take hold.

Would there be no respite for the boy?

Where it came from, who knows?

Perhaps it had always been present inside, waiting to strike.

Or maybe it came from the outside, the boy’s ill-luck somewhere or with someone.

But the boy grew strong and as time passed, he learnt.

He learnt to look up and look out.

He grappled with it, day after day, every breathing moment, such that the two came to be equals.

Sometimes he overpowers it, but fear still rears its head.

And he has come to accept it, for he realized that all is not lost.

Now he can control it.

Now he can do as he will.

Why live in fear forever?